


Wish Upon A Falling Star

by Serenade



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elf/Human Relationship(s), Extra Treat, Frankly Absurd Age Gap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-23 22:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/pseuds/Serenade
Summary: Beleg and Túrin, looking at stars, thinking about time.





	Wish Upon A Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WolffyLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/gifts).



They made camp for the night in the shelter of ruins, the stone walls a bulwark against the wind. Something grand had stood here once, reaching for the sky, hinted at with fallen columns and broken arches.

Beleg stoked the fire, remembering the last time he had come this way. "There was a village of Men here, not so long ago. And before that, the hill was overgrown with forest." But even the newest graves were nameless, obscured by time and weather. Perhaps it had been longer than he recalled. It disturbed him that so many years could pass without his notice. Within the borders of Doriath, it was easy to believe that all the world hung suspended in an endless golden afternoon, where spring was the only season. That dream was what he and the other marchwardens protected. But the world still went on outside that dream.

Túrin stretched out on the ground beside him, then propped himself up on one elbow, facing Beleg. "I know you had no sire. You came to life under the stars. But I never really understood what that meant before. You're older than all the works of Men. Any carven stone, any walled fortress, any cities of kings. No wonder we're just the blink of eye to you."

"Don't say that. It's not true."

"It's true. But it's fine. You're my constant. You've always been there for me. Even when--especially when--I didn't deserve it." Túrin leaned against him, a solid warmth. No gawky youth anymore, but a man grown to maturity. "I like thinking that long after I'm gone, someone who knew me will still remember me. Remember this autumn day, when we got soaked catching fish in the river, and made up silly stories about the shape of clouds."

Beleg swallowed his words. _If I could trade you time, I would give my years to you. A thousand, ten thousand. What use is eternity to me if you are not there by my side?_

"Look, a falling star!" Túrin grabbed his arm. "My mother said, if you wish on a falling star, your wish will come true."

"And does it?" Beleg said, glad of this sudden enthusiasm. Túrin was not much given to flights of fancy these days, and it was a heartwrenching reminder of the childlike wonder he used to have. "What did you wish for?"

Defeating Morgoth, perhaps, or reuniting his family. But to his surprise, Túrin flushed. "I can't tell you that."

Suspicions roused, Beleg poked him in the side. "Oh? Why not?"

Túrin batted him away. "It's the tradition. If I tell you, it won't come true." Heat painted his face and neck crimson.

Beleg leaned closer, with a soft smile. "What if telling me would make it come true?"

Túrin kissed him. Then he drew back, eyes huge with hope and longing. "There isn't anybody else I want. Only you."

Beleg kissed him back. "I will always be here for you. Whenever you need me. Wherever you are. I will find you. I promise."

They made love among the forgotten graves of forgotten kings. Túrin had all the energy and vigour of youth; Beleg had the patience and stamina of ages. Afterwards, they lay on their spread cloaks, looking up at the clear night sky.

"If things were otherwise," Túrin said, "somewhere like this might have been my home. Where the only danger is chasing the wolves away from the sheep. But if I can't have that, then living out my days fighting the Enemy, is not so bad a fate."

Beleg sat up, not wanting to think about the end of Túrin's days. He took out a whetstone and began sharpening Anglachel. It was out of habit alone. Unlike other blades he had borne, this sword never lost its edge. Maybe it was a property of the meteoric iron, or a skill of the Dark Elf who had forged it. Still, the routine gave Beleg comfort, gave him something to do with his hands, aside from holding Túrin close to his heart and never letting go.

A bright star flashed across the sky. "Look, another one!" Túrin said, in pure delight. His smile lit up his face, joy unstained by the shadow of grief, like he was a carefree boy again. He nudged Beleg. "Go on. Make a wish."

_I wish I never had to lose him. I wish I never had to mourn him._

Beneath his hands, the black sword shivered.


End file.
